His final wishes
by Zeddy8
Summary: Sherlock is dying, and Mycroft, Greg, and John must comply to his final wishes.


I don't own anything in this story.

Also, I'm not British, so I didn't even try with the British terminology.

Oh, and I have very little medical knowledge, so bear with me on this, please.

...O...

"It had been so unexpected. I hadn't even known he'd left, how had I not noticed? Well, I did notice when my phone started ringing and I answered it, just to shut it up, I think. It was bloody Lestrade, I'd 'have torn a strip off the wanker if he hadn't sounded so distressed. Instead I listened, it didn't really make a lot of sense said something about the car, and I told him you were in your bed asleep. Well he told me to check, and I did, right. But you weren't in bed, or anywhere in the flat for that matter. I didn't know what to say, and asked him to re-explain what happened. He told me the cab you were in was hit by an empty bus. Jesus, I don't even remember what I did, but I ended up jumping in a cab (can't believe I did that!) and got down to Barts. Lestrade had at least had the decency to tell me you were still alive. When I got there, I couldn't see you, you were in the emergency room, but I knew it was bad when I saw Mycroft there. Bloody git looked horrible, so much for ice man, seemed you broke the ice. Well he was pacing back and forth, and Greg was sitting on a chair. I didn't… It wasn't even real to me. Mycroft immediately asked me why you'd been out, and I told him I hadn't known you'd left. He looked so mad, and I've never seen him angry, never really angry, but he just threw his umbrella down on the ground and left. I was really surprised when Lestrade followed him. You probably knew though, didn't you?"

"I didn't sleep that night, waiting to see you, but I wasn't really there either, in shock, for sure. Great doctor I am. Well, Greg and Mycroft both came back after about two hours, and we all sat in silence. It was terrible. Well, when the doctor came, she insisted on relatives only, first. I made a fuss about it, but I was tired and scared. Christ I was scared. But they took Mycroft in first, and then came and got us right after. I figure Mycroft pulled rank or something. But you looked so… hurt, so vulnerable. You entire head was bandaged, and you left arm and leg were bandaged. But the scariest part was that you were on life support, eyes cracked open, and so pale. It was terrible, and I cried right then, sinking down into one of the chairs. The doctor filled me in, saying that a transit bus hit your side of the cab at an intersection. The driver was actually fine, if not very shaken up, but you'd taken a lot of impact to the head. They didn't know if you'd wake up. When they found you, they said you had lost a lot of blood, and you flatlined almost immediately after they drove you away. They said that between the blood loss and the head injury, the likeliness of brain damage was high. Mycroft left then, couldn't seem to take the thought of brain damage, it didn't seem possible to me, brain damage to the most brilliant man I've ever met. I didn't know just how serious that would be though, not till later, but I'll get to that. Anyhow, they told me your left leg and arm had also been crushed pretty bad, and they didn't know how well you could recover from that. You were in a coma, you see, and then they told us we could stay the night if we so wished. I didn't sleep."

"When I woke up that next day, it was just past noon. Mycroft wasn't in the room, but Greg was sitting by your bed whispering something in your ear. Greg looked and me and sighed. "Have you seen his paperwork?" He asked carefully."

"What paperwork? No, I haven't, never seen any of his paperwork. Why?" I asked him, and then he beckoned for me to follow him to a doctors office. He led me in, where a doctor and your brother were talking over a thin yellow file. He, Mycroft, looked up sadly and simply handed the file over. I opened it, the first few pages was your will. Bloody git, didn't leave anything for your brother or Greg, why me? You knew them longer, although insisting I stay at 221B was pretty nice to Mrs Hudson, she was very relieved she hasn't lost both her boys."

"Anyways, after that, the page had your dying wishes, as dramatic as they were, I teared up at the violin. Greg helped me make sure every one of them were met, the next day. Anyways, the next page was stating that Mycroft was to be left in charge of any necessary medical decision. Including your trust on his assurance of... Well, a condition, left to Mycroft to confirm. I felt dizzy after reading that. If brain damage has occurred, and chance of full mental recovery is unlikely, pull it. Greg helped keep me standing and Mycroft picked up the file, which I had dropped. I was angry at Mycroft, I could see in his expression he was going to keep your wishes. I know its what you wanted, and now that I've slept I understand it was the right thing to do, but at that moment I was so angry. And not just Mycroft, I was angry at everything and everyone. The bastard who hit your car, the doctor for not saving you, Greg for touching me, Mycroft for keeping your requests, and every bloody person walking around London. Every person who was perfectly fine while you weren't. Greg helped me sit down, and I think the Doctor came and checked on me. I don't really remember. I just remember Greg telling me the reports and your brain activity would arrive around ten pm."

"I nibbled at my dinner, but none of us really ate. When the reports arrived... Christ, you already know you were pretty much brain dead. The chances of even waking up were slim, never mind actual recovery. Mycroft scheduled for two days later, and called in to take work off. I tried to hit him, but Greg held me back and told me to sleep. I slept off and on a bit, but not properly. The next morning we set about the task of spreading the news. Molly, Mrs Hudson, even Sally and Anderson, Dimmock and Mike came by to tearfully say their goodbyes. That afternoon Greg and I set out filling your final wishes, with a bit of help from Mycroft."

"The next morning was hell, we knew that that afternoon we'd... Well we'd be killing you. I know you say the bodies just transport, and without a mind, what good is it and all. But it hurt so bad, you're not supposed to die, you're supposed to jump out of that bed just fine, call the hospital staff idiots, Mycroft fat, and tell me to hurry along. But you didn't, and never will again. Mycroft spent the morning by your side, holding you hand, and crying even if just a bit. Come time, we each got private time to say our goodbyes. I mucked mine up bad, I know it. You'd probably have laughed at me, if you could have. Mycroft went last, and he looked ruined when Greg and I were brought back in. Greg went right Mycroft to support him and hold him. It was terrible, watching the doctor shut off your equipment, watched as your chest stopped moving. And listened as the doctor pronounced you dead. 2:32 pm, November 23, 2011." 


End file.
